The First Time I Met You
by GreenEyesGreySkies
Summary: What's really going through Draco's head when he fights with Harry? *based on artwork by mizorekibishi on LJ* Hogwarts.


**Author's Note: Hi guys! So I know that I have other fics to work on right now, but recently I've been very obsessed with Drarry fan art and have come across this one that I think is adorable and has inspired me to write something a little different than what I'm used to. I'm also quite into the idea of doing a deeper character study for Draco. I think he is highly underrated in the books and the films, but I guess that's a bit of a good thing for me, since I can create whatever I want to now. Let's see how it goes.**

**Disclaimer: None of these lovely characters are mine, sadly. J.K. Rowling, I bow down to you for creating them, I am merely using them for my own strange little fantasies. And the idea for this fic came from this beautiful fan art:**

_**mizorekibishi . livejournal / 6050 . html (just remove the spaces!)**_

**Go check it out! :) x**

**~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~**

_The first time I met you,_

_I've fallen in love with you._

With disheveled raven hair and those emerald eyes,

The way his smile lights up the entire room, how his clothes are much too large for him, the manner of which he carries his new friends in tow.

Yes, you've fallen in love with him.

Because he is everything that you are not; he is sweet, you are sour, he is strong, you are weak... he is light, you are dark. He is everything that your family is against, is nothing that you've ever been told to be. Yet, you are convinced that you are perfect for one another. Somehow, you think that you are. And ever since that day, you watch him and you fall even more in love with him. But he does not watch you. You'd do anything just to get his attention.

So you do.

Now he hates you for it.

You see him here today, years later, while taking the long, snowy path to Hogsmeade village on a school trip. He has not changed much since the day you met him. He still has the same disheveled hair and emerald eyes and brilliant smile, the same baggy clothes and crowd of friends. But nowadays he wears his red Gryffindor scarf wound tightly around his neck, the very opposite of your own Slytherin green one. It is just one more reminder that he and you will never be the same. You watch him silently as he throws both of his arms around his companions as he walks.

He is laughing.

You think that, with every laugh, he could not possibly get more beautiful.

But somehow, each time,

he does.

And as he leans his head back, little flecks of snowflakes dust over his dark hair and he grins at Granger and Weasley like you wish he would look at you. But he won't look at you... not the way that you want him to. Gods, he is lovely. It makes you want to scream.

What if you were like Granger or Weasley? Would he still hate you the way that he does? You imagine the way his eyes would glisten, how his lips would stretch into a smile upon seeing you, and oh, it is a charming thought. But... You look down at your left forearm and realise that it is impossible. You could never be one of them. He would _never _stop hating you after all you've done against him. And honestly, you don't blame him.

You've made sure of it with every jab and taunt and sneer you could muster, but your initial purpose is still unknown and your resolve grows weaker while your heart grows emptier. And you wish that you could take it all back and start over, back to the first time that you met him. Back to when there was a chance that he could begin to love you back.

But you can't.

He finally takes notice of you standing by your lonesome at the end of the path, and you think that it's about time. He has always been a bit dense. His gaze grows hard, the way it always does when you are around, and he lets go of his friends so that he can face you properly. You try to look as fierce as possible and you don't really know why you continue to play this game with him. Because how else would you look at a boy whom you've hated all these years? Except, you never hated him. Not once. You are reluctant, but you do not show it.

"Malfoy," he greets flatly, his pretty mouth turned downwards.

"Potter," you reply, and your expression surely matches his, except perhaps yours has a tad more bite than really necessary.

You want to tell him that you care about him, that you worry about him, that you can never sleep because you lie awake, petrified, wondering if You-Know-Who has finally prevailed that night. You want to tell him that you wish that you could be as brave as he is, because sometimes all you want to do is run away with him and escape everything—Hogwarts, You-Know-Who, your family's expectations, every social shackle that holds you back—and never return.

But instead, you find yourself snarling cutting remarks about his friends, his glasses, his scar, his clothing, his parents. But none of it is true. You don't hate his friends, you hate that they get to be with him while you cannot. You think his glasses are quite charming, you wish you could kiss his scar, and his clothing is strangely endearing. And his parents... you wish you could understand. But with parents like yours, you cannot help but think that he will always be the better man with parents like his.

You insult him to the core and you don't take it back, so he ends up pinning you to the ground and socking you in the mouth. But you don't mind because the feel of his body against yours, no matter how belligerent, is worth any amount of injury. He gets up and you gingerly touch the bruised area around your jaw that is surely turning purple by now. Suddenly, you find yourself shooting out a scathing remark about the ghastly colour of Weasley's hair despite the impending danger blossoming in those impossibly green eyes. The flash of fury in them excites you.

He grabs you by the collar and hoists you off the ground, regardless of the height you have on him, and he is surprisingly strong for such a scrawny boy. "Shut up, Malfoy," he growls.

"Make me, Potty," you retort.

His eyes narrow and he hits you in the gut, temporarily winding you. You keel over and gasp as he stares at you not looking sorry in the slightest. When you scream between heavy breaths about the unfairness of it all he almost lunges at you again, but Granger pulls him back and holds him by the arms. You eventually catch your breath and stand up straight, with a glare that feigns nothing less of loathing. He has calmed down too and now he strides towards you with blazing eyes and pursed lips, but you cannot take him seriously because his hair is standing up in all sorts of ways and you want to ruffle a hand through it. You remain where you are.

He takes a deep breath and strengthens his gaze by furrowing his dark brows. "Go away, Malfoy," he warns.

"I was here first," you shoot back.

He looks as if he is trying to contain himself. "Just fuck off."

"Fuck _you_," you sneer.

You immediately wish you hadn't said that when you catch the brief flicker of resentment in his eyes. He turns away to leave with his friends, apparently letting you win the battle. Yet, you haven't won. Not until you have him.

You suddenly feel angry and upset and _lost_, because you always win what you don't want and lose what you can't have. And it's entirely his fault because the first time you met him, he didn't glower at you like you were pesky scum on the soles of his shoes. He didn't scowl at you like you were the last person on earth he'd want to see. He looked at you with the same hope of what could've been that you had felt as well. The hope that had vanished completely the moment you opened your big, stupid mouth. The hope that would never return because you are _still_ opening your big, stupid mouth.

"Potter," you yell after him, your voice somewhat cracked from holding back tears you do not want him to see. "I wish I had never even met you!"

He turns his head without knowing the true meaning of your words and carelessly shouts over his shoulder, "I hate you too, Malfoy!"

And you return it without hesitation because now you really _do_ hate him, you hate him for making you love him so much that it hurts. It physically hurts. You hate him for hating you and you hate him for thinking that you hate him back. You hate him because every time you fight him it becomes less true, and every time you see him you cannot even remember the reason why you still pretend. Because that's all you ever do. Pretend and lie and cheat and fake.

So you watch him go with his friends, once again smiling, and everything that you love about him is still perfectly intact, still perfectly out of your reach. No, you decide, these things do not change. People do.

He disappears into the village and you stand there for a long while, just gazing at the path that he left. You glance around at your cold, empty surroundings and you are haunted by the loneliness that will undoubtedly stay with you forever. When you look back up you are sure that you can spot him, still laughing that wonderful laugh with his friends, and standing by the sweet shop. You notice that the snowflakes still feather the dark strands of his hair and his smile is even more brilliant than ever.

_The first time I met you,_

_I've fallen in love with you._

You watch him intently, hoping that he will figure it out somehow and come running straight into your arms. Apologise for hurting you earlier, and over the years. Apologise for not realising it sooner. Kiss you until all you can see are fiery emerald stars and all you can feel is the warm touch of his skin.

He does not look up your way once.

_But you will always hate me._


End file.
